


darling, we're all a little splintered and battered

by BroadwayBaggins



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hand Washing, Henry is impossibly soft okay, Hurt/Comfort, hand holding, lovingly inspired by call the midwife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23683645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroadwayBaggins/pseuds/BroadwayBaggins
Summary: After an exhausting night, Emma searches for calm.
Relationships: Emma Green/Henry Hopkins
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	darling, we're all a little splintered and battered

The night had seemed endless, a barrage of wounded that never ended as the hours ticked by at a snail’s crawl–and morning, when it came, was no better.

The beds were never empty–as soon as a boy was carried out by an orderly, another came to take his place. Emma’s last three patients hadn’t made it–the last had died crying for his mother, and he couldn’t have been any older than Alice. He had been the last straw, and Emma had staggered back away from the table, already tugging at her apron strings, desperate to pull away the garment that felt like it was burning her. No one noticed her hasty escape, apart from Anne Hastings, who simply nodded at her and mouthed _“Go,_ ” understanding evident even amidst the urgency in her eyes. Emma hadn’t hesitated before she fled.

Five minutes of silent sobbing in the hall supply closet and she had gotten it out of her system. Back on the wards, she prayed no one would notice her puffy eyes, her blotched complexion, the way her eyelashes were gummed and stuck together with dried tears. If they did, they had the kindness not to mention it.

It was nearly nine in the morning when Emma finally got a respite. Doctor Foster had taken one look at her, nearly swaying on her feet–a good cry always did exhaust her terribly–and told her to go and rest, and not come back for at least an hour. Emma had thought to protest at first, but finally acquiesced. She wasn’t sure how many more losses she could take today.

“Are you sure?” she asked before she left, looking back with her hand on the door.

“Miss Hastings and I have this well in hand. Go, Emma.”

She discarded her soiled apron on a teetering pile of laundry, trying not to look too closely at the filthy sheets and covers and uniform shirts. Just outside the operating room, she found a basin of passably clean water and began to wash her hands, humming softly to herself to drown out the sounds of the man on Doctor Foster’s table. The hallway was practically deserted, a feat that seemed impossible after the endless chaos of last night. Emma paused in her hand washing to yawn massively, blinking her bleary eyes. Yes, a rest would do her some good…

“Miss Green!”

The voice was enough to startle Emma half out of her wits. Her arms jerked, knocking the basin to the floor, where it spilled over her boots but mercifully did not break. She thought she heard a muffled curse as she immediately bent to pick up the bowl. The culprit who had startled her was immediately by her side, his hands soft and gentle on her forearms as he helped her stand up with the basin in her arms.

For some reason, Emma was not at all surprised to find herself looking into the eyes of Henry Hopkins.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Green. I didn’t mean to scare you–I thought I’d made enough noise coming up the stairs, I thought you would have heard me–”

She held up a hand, trembling with tiredness, to stop him. “It’s all right. It isn’t your fault. I’m half-dead on my feet and jumpier than…than…” she closed her eyes, searching for the rest of an analogy that did not come. “I don’t even know what I’m jumpier than.”

“Look at you, you’re exhausted. I truly am sorry. Here, let me help you, at least…” Taking the basin from her, he set it down on the table and retreated down the stairs, taking them almost two at a time in his haste. Emma was left to wait and wonder until, a few moments later, he came back with a pitcher and began to refill the basin with water. Emma looked up with delight when she realized. “It’s warm!”

Henry smiled, one of the first genuine smiles she had seen from him in quite a while. “I couldn’t wait too long, not enough to get it properly hot. But I thought it would be a nice treat.” He set the pitcher down and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached for Emma’s hands to put them in the water himself.

Emma found herself blushing slightly under his gaze as she finished her task. The look in his eyes was so tender, Emma thought looking at him for too long might make her start crying all over again.

She finished and shook out her hands, letting the excess water fall. Across from her, Henry reached into his pocket. “I forgot to get you a towel,” he said sheepishly, handing her a handkerchief instead. “This will have to do, I’m afraid.”

“It’s perfect,” Emma assured him.

Once her hands were dry, she went to give him the handkerchief back, but he held out his hands. “Keep it,” he insisted gently. His gaze dropped, and he frowned as he noticed a little scrape across Emma’s palm, one that even she had failed to notice.

“What happened?” he asked his voice full of concern.

Emma stared at the scrape, wracking her brain trying to remember what had happened. Had one of the surgeons accidentally bumped her while she was handing them an instrument? Had she fallen? Finally, she gave up and just settled on the truth.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

There was silence for a moment before Henry chuckled, quietly at first, then louder. After a few seconds, Emma joined him. The absurdity of the situation gave her no choice.

She was surprised, though, when Henry reached for her hand. His touch so gentle she almost swore she imagined it at first, cradling her hand in one of his while the other gently touched her wound with a fingertip. “Does that hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered in reply.

“Good. I’m no doctor, but this doesn’t look too serious. I think you’ll be just fine.”

He gazed down at her hand, small and pale against his own, for a moment longer before he gently raised it to his lips. He kissed her just below the scrape, on the underside of her wrist, where Emma knew he could feel the beat of her heart beneath his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> You might know that I am utter trash for Call the Midwife/Patrick and Shelagh/THAT HANDWASHING/KISSING SCENE? Well, I am. Here is an Emmry take on it, with bonus Anne and Jed watching out for Emma in Mary's absence.
> 
> Middlemarch provided the prompt and the first sentence, which I expanded slightly just to make a little more sense.  
> Title comes from "Front Porch" by Joy Williams, who--fun fact!--is one half of one of my favorite musical duos, the Civil Wars.  
> And I expect one of Henry's sisters made him that handkerchief.


End file.
